


Hat-trick

by veryveryverytemporarily



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Age Difference, Bisexuality, Coming Out, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-17 06:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12359355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryveryverytemporarily/pseuds/veryveryverytemporarily
Summary: Consensual robrence. Maybe the past wasn’t quite what it seemed, and no one was entirely to blame for what happened next. Robert wants a father figure but gets more. Rewrite of events of 21st September and the past relationship between Lawrence and Robert.





	1. You won't regret this, Mr. White

**Author's Note:**

> Smut is in the second chapter ;)  
> I don’t even know what this is, and since very few people will read it, it doesn’t really matter.

‘Your Dad only took me on ‘cos he had the hots for me. I missed a chance there! I’m rather regretting not going for the hat-trick.’

That’s what he’d said to Chrissie, and there was some truth in it, but not the whole truth. The whole truth was a slightly different story. A tragicomedy maybe, with themes of hate, pity, anger, (desire - or was it something more than that?)

When you looked at it closely, they’d always been there.

Robert didn’t look closely; wasn’t capable for a long time. Instead he’d closed the book, leaving it unfinished, and moved on to another better one, a love story of epic proportions, the kind of story that changes the way you look at the world, and how the world looks. Then the love story ended, and he’d been told that there would never be a sequel.

So, he returned to the unfinished story, and reluctantly picked up the old themes - hate, pity, anger, (desire - it was _complicated_.)

And he discovered they’d been smoldering, like burning methane on a landfill, fanned by seasonal winds, dampened by rain and disinterest, but never quite extinguished.

 

That was why Robert found himself, one grey afternoon, in the living room at Home Farm, baby- sitting a heartbroken Lawrence, latterly his father-in-law, and plying him with expensive brandy that he had cradled to his bosom like some long - lost child.

He gestured with his fingers, pressing his lips together sternly, asking for the bottle back.

‘Come on, then, pass it over. I’ll pour us both a glass.’

Like he was the parent.

But hadn’t he wanted that from Lawrence, once; a father figure, a role model, and more? Maybe that had been the start of it, back in chapter one.

 

He hadn’t even been there at the interview, not at first, not until he’d popped his head round the door, and Robert had raised his eyebrows, an open smile, an innocent greeting. He’d stayed in the background, listening, finger tips pressed together like a priest, as Robert talked about his experience in sales, mechanics and agriculture.

Robert had done his homework, naturally, and read up about the Company, and the man behind it, scrolling through newspaper articles; businessman of the year awards, philanthropic gestures - the donation to rebuild the playground of a local school after the great storm of ‘98. Then he happened across it; just a few sentences in black and white - the conviction, all those years ago. He’d sat forwards, hand over his mouth, and glanced around him in the public library.

They asked him to wait outside so he picked up a company brochure, passed a desultory eye over the outdated graphics, then sidled to the door to listen.

‘I don’t know; his references haven’t got back to me.’

‘Well, I like him. The man’s his own reference. Ask him to come back in.’

When they offered him the job, he looked back at them wide eyed, grateful. Then he asked about the salary.

‘Wages,’ the interviewer (company assistant director) corrected.

Lawrence mentioned a sum, and Robert shook his head and stood up with a sigh, his hands on his hips, adjusting his belt, before turning to go.

‘Sorry. You’ve been wasting my time,’ he murmured.

‘Wait! Wait, sit down a minute, don’t be hasty!’ Lawrence called. ‘What amount did you have in mind?’

‘You won’t regret this, err, Lawrence, isn’t it?’ he said, a few minutes later.

Lawrence’s hand enfolded his in a handshake, warm and manly. He’d liked it, and looked back into his eyes.

 

Robert poured the brandy.

‘Drinking in the afternoon? What’s the occasion?’

‘Ronnie’s got a new man; Serge! A roofer from Brussels. He found love on a Flemish building site!’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘As if you care!’

‘I do, actually. I’ve always cared.’

‘About yourself!’

‘Alright. I deserved that.’

 

He’d known from the start, the way you do know, when there’s that attraction. And yes, he admitted it, he’d used it those first few months.

He’d gone to the barbers and had his hair cropped short, arrived early each day at the office, smelling of soap, wearing a shirt and sweater, a striped school boy tie that he loosened when he undid his top button. He’d kept his ears open, his eyes out, and worked solidly, until one day, when he looked up, Lawrence was perched on the edge of the desk.

‘I’ve been looking at your figures. I’m impressed!’

There must have been some chink in the armor that he’d worn so carefully for the past seven years, because the pain was sudden and unexpected, just below his left arm, piercing, sharp; an arrow in, and out again.

It took his breath for a moment.

He was twenty-seven years old, and he’d wanted to impress this man who was over twice his age, older than his father would have been if he’d lived even, but what he hadn’t expected, was to care about it.

He moved his hands back to the keyboard.

‘Thanks. Just doing my job.’

‘Keep going!’

Lawrence touched his shoulder, a gentle squeeze, then moved away back to his office.

 

He drained the brandy, then poured them both a second glass.

‘Aaron’s seeing someone; he’s all caring, handsome, sickeningly perfect. He deserves perfect, better than me. It’s the kind of person, kind of life he should have…’

‘But it kills you to see him get it.’

‘This actually feels worse than the break – up. He stayed over.’

‘At least you can start again, game over for me.’

Hate, pity, anger!

‘Why would I want to start again? When I had everything?’ There was this irrational part of him that felt like it was Lawrence’s fault.

_You should’ve helped! You could have – but you didn’t. You chose not to!_

The words were in his head. It was stupid. He knew it was all his fault. Just his. He was the one to blame. So why did he still feel so angry with Lawrence?

He needed to let it go. But there’d been a time when he’d thought, well… it didn’t matter now.

 

Lawrence was by his side again. He smelt of sandalwood and juniper. Robert knew that he’d been to the gym where he was working with a personal trainer that he’d recently hired. He wondered if he’d had a massage after, and whether it was the scent of the essential oils. He wondered if the masseuse was male or female, if Lawrence had a preference. He imagined asking, actually talking, like he never could with his Dad, or with anyone else.

‘What’s this?’

‘A Flyer. It’s just something I’ve been working on. An idea.’ Robert leaned back, spread his hands. ‘You see, I reckon we’re not reaching our full potential. I was thinking, Farmer’s markets. There’s loads in the area, untapped clientele. We could drop off flyers, cheap advertising, and if there’s any interest, tell them a bit more about what we do.’

‘I suppose it can’t do any harm.’

They’d gone together in the Range Rover, Robert bright, enthusiastic. He could feel the adrenaline as he flexed his fingers while they chatted. His excitement was infectious, and he saw the color in Lawrence’s cheeks when he glanced over from the passenger seat. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he was in the moment. He could see the approval. It felt ridiculously good.

‘That was a success!’

He liked the way the word sounded on Lawrence’s lips.

‘Come on, my boy, I’ll buy you lunch.’

On the way to pub, Lawrence stopped at a shop window, pointing out watches; Rolex, Cartier.

‘A bit out of my price range.’ Robert had laughed.

‘They won’t be, one day. I can tell.’

He was the opposite of his dad in every way.

 

Over lunch, they’d had their first proper chat. When Lawrence raised his wine glass, Robert saw the gold band of his wedding ring. It glowed, reflecting the warmth from the real fire in the snug where they sat.

‘My Mum died when I was fifteen, and my Dad died a few years back now, heart attack.’

‘Lord!  Well, anyway, you’ve got me now, if you ever need some fatherly advice. It’s hard, losing those you love, the grief takes time.’

‘Your wife?’

‘Cancer.’

‘Do you think, will you ever…, could you ever…, find someone else?’

The heat from the fire was getting to him, he reached down and pulled his sweater off over his head, his untucked shirt rose with it, revealing a rectangle of skin above his belt. Robert saw Lawrence turn his face hastily away, his lips wet with wine.

‘What about you?’ Lawrence asked when he turned back. ‘I’m guessing you have a girlfriend?’

‘Not a girlfriend. I have had in the past, but...’

‘Lord! Is that the time. I’m going to be late for my next meeting!’

 

That night Robert dreamt about a clock. He remembered later when he woke, that he’d seen it in the shop window with Lawrence. It was one of those rustic Swiss affairs made of bleached wood, a cuckoo clock with a weather house - two arches with figures inside. One of the arches was for when it was sunny, one for when it rained.

It was too shadowy to see the figures clearly, so in his dream he watched impatiently, waiting, listening to the clock tick.

He was about to give up entirely, when with a whirr and click, the figure under the sunny arch popped out; a woman, a girl, with blonde hair and a riding crop. He opened his mouth, it was Katie. But before he could say her name aloud, she’d gone back again, and then the rainy-day figure sprang forwards. He blinked, startled at the young figure, a farm hand. He knew who it was. In his dream, a bullet of pain burst in his chest.

Before he could process it, the figure had gone back into the shadow again.

The other figure appeared for a second time. Katie, naked now, creamy curved loins shining with varnish on painted wood, then she disappeared. He waited for the other figure, only this time, it was Lawrence.

Robert woke up, panting. He had an erection, and moved his hand down. He found a towel by the bed and placed it on his belly then worked himself, shocked to be imagining the older man’s mouth.

In the morning, he refused to think about it.

 

 

‘You’re angry with me.’ Lawrence said. ‘You’ve always been angry with me. I gave you a job, promoted you, took you in under my own roof, treated you like a son, but you still hate me. I don’t know why, we could have been friends, allies, partner in crime you and I. You ruined it all.’

Robert rocked forwards and took another gulp of the brandy. He was still wearing his jacket over his shirt, despite the warmth of the room in the afternoon, and the heat in his throat.

‘Me? I ruined it all?’

But Lawrence was right. He had been angry for so long.

That was why he’d flaunted it, with Chrissie, under his nose. Pulling her close by the waist, or onto his lap, knee bumping, thigh pinching, neck nuzzling, fingering her blouse - until Lawrence would puff out his cheeks and object loudly – _I know this is love’s young dream, but_ , _do you two have to do that here?_ Robert, crowing that he’d got the rise he wanted, lowering his voice – _come on then, what d’ya say we leave your dad to it?_ exiting the room, glancing back, knowing before looking that Lawrence’s eyes were glazed over, on his hips, as he moved towards the door.

Even with Rebecca, it had been about him, somehow. Sometimes he would look at her face, at her body on a hotel bed, and see some shadow of resemblance. He should have known, even back then, about the biology. He didn’t get that with Chrissie. Maybe that was why he’d chosen her in the beginning, and in the end. There was less of that itch, a more comfortable compromise to deal with on a day to day basis. And, she was smarter than either of them.

He glanced across now at the older man, taking in his beard, a new development, but it suited him. Despite his age his frame was still strong, broad with a powerful chest.

‘You hate me, too.’

Then unexpectedly, Lawrence sat forwards, and placed a hand on Robert’s knee. He shifted away suddenly, as if he’d been shocked, almost spilling the brandy from his glass.

‘Don’t!’

 

On Lawrence’s birthday everyone clubbed together and bought him a surprise gift. While the others waited outside in the courtyard, Robert was the one charged with bringing him there. At the bottom of the stairs, he made him wait and tied a silk scarf around his eyes to blindfold him, then with a hand tucked under his arm he guided him out.

It was a bicycle.

Lawrence laughed.

‘Good God! I don’t think I’ve ridden since I was a young man!’

‘Doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten how!’ Robert laughed, wide eyed. ‘We know you’re on a health kick, and what better way…? Why don’t you give it a go? Come on!’

Robert held the bike steady while Lawrence climbed on. He set off, and made a circuit of the courtyard to the applause of all the staff, and then he teetered, the front wheel wobbling dangerously for a moment.

The bike veered sideways. It was Robert who stepped forwards. Lawrence’s arm was over his shoulder, his other hand clutching at his shirt. Robert stood erect, holding his weight, his heart all at once thundering in his chest.

He had no one, no one at all to talk about it to. He didn’t do friends. Didn’t trust people. Didn’t let anyone get close enough.

 

‘You were like a son to me!’

Lawrence slowly moved his hand back, Robert ran a finger under the collar of his shirt.

‘Bullshit!’

There was copy of Men’s Health on the table, a glossy image of a guy with pecs smooth as polished copper. He wondered if Lawrence beat off, turning the pages with his left hand.

 

As he drew him into his inner circle, Lawrence became more and more affectionate; congratulatory pats on his back; strokes on the sleeves on his shirt, a momentary hold of his wrist, once, even, a hand on his lower back that fleetingly slid, accidentally, too far downwards.

It had all been very paternal.

Or had it? Because Robert saw the way Lawrence looked at him. He needed to know.

There was a big deal coming up with a new customer, and Lawrence wanted to go over the details before they met.

‘You’ve got a session with your personal trainer in the morning.’ Robert reminded him.

‘Well then, I’ll just have to cancel it, we need to agree on a strategy, figures, beforehand.’

‘No, don’t cancel. You always feel better after it, you’ll have a clearer head, it makes good sense.’ Robert looked down at his phone. ‘If you want, I could come and meet you at the gym? I could do with a sauna myself. We could take one together after your work out, I met a Finnish bloke once, said it was the best place for business meetings.’ His tongue flickered against his lips, remembering. ‘And then we’ll both be fresh and we can go directly on from there.’

For a fraction of a second, Lawrence hesitated.

‘Unless….?’

‘No, that’s fine. why not?’

When he got to the gym, he could see Lawrence was still with his trainer, lifting light handheld weights. He was wearing track suit bottoms, and a black T-shirt, stained darker from sweat under his arms, his chest, biceps, swollen from the work out.

Robert decided to swim and changed into trunks, his skin sensitive in the cool air as he touched it. After a few lengths he got out of the pool and, stripping off his bathing shorts, stood alone in the communal shower. He took longer than he needed, waiting. His cock felt heavy between his thighs and he was careful not to touch himself, not wanting to trigger a reaction. He tried to distract himself thinking about the deal they might strike at the meeting later.

He got out of the shower and toweled dry his hair, his body, then took a sauna wrap and tied it loosely round his waist.

When Lawrence walked into the changing room, his faced was already flushed from the work out, but Robert saw his eyes dilate when he saw him, his mouth fall open. He stroked his fingertips against his naked chest, and all at once Lawrence looked away, fumbling with the key to his locker, cursing suddenly when it fell to the tiled floor.

Robert stooped and picked it up, handing it back into Lawrence’s trembling hand, trying to meet his eyes.

‘I’ll wait.’

‘No, no, you go ahead. I’ll, I’ll, well… I’ll… be there in a few minutes.’

In the sauna, Robert leaned back against the lower tier of the hot wooden bench, stretching, resting on his elbows, his neck thrown back against the heat. When the older man came in, he scanned over him, a silver fox; his upper body still flushed from the exercise, his chest and shoulders covered in a light down of grey hair. As he shifted to sit himself down at a right angle to Robert, he watched the muscles in his arms move.

The sauna smelt of birch wood and tar. Robert’s blonde hair was already plastered to his face and neck as the sweat ran from him. He could feel his pours opening in the dry heat, and moved his thighs apart, letting his sauna wrap fall open at the hip, exposing his pale thigh, and some glistening blonde wet pubic hair.

‘Shall I pour water on the coals?’

If he stood now, the wrap would fall away. He wanted that. He was sure now that Lawrence wanted him, and he wanted his eyes on his body. Then Lawrence could unwrap, too. They could talk business together naked, and then, maybe Lawrence would touch him with his older man’s fingers, between his legs, underneath his balls, there, in that public place. And after they could go to a hotel.

And then, Lawrence stood suddenly.

‘The heat, I …, sorry, it’s my heart… too fast.’  And he left, leaving Robert frowning, tugging roughly at the towel as he fastened it.

That afternoon, they lost the deal, Robert aggressively insisting on a higher price, so that they were undercut by another bidder.

Later, as he ran a hand through his blonde hair, elbow on the table, Lawrence touched his arm again.

‘You still have a lot to learn.’

‘That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To learn from you,’ he pouted.

He meant it. But now he was confused, confused by what Lawrence wanted, by what he wanted.


	2. Hat-trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert continues to explore his feelings for Lawrence, and realizes his hat-trick in the end, despite of a few obstacles along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is better than the smut so if you want to avoid it you could read up to ‘Make me’ and ignore the rest. It's only a bit of fun anyway ;) - Sorry for taking so long to those that asked, I struggled more than warranted with this lol xx

 

 

Robert hadn’t hated Lawrence after the sauna, not yet, not even slightly. If anything, he was angry with himself.

He spent a troubled weekend, convincing himself that he’d behaved like an idiot, that he wanted Lawrence as a role model, a mentor, nothing more.

What had he been thinking? It wasn’t as if he was gay? ( even though he’d been curious in the past, once, twice, ok - a few times – times he’d written off to loneliness, boredom, opportunity)

He drank too much, and lay awake between tangled sheets, too hot to sleep. He hated weekends. They seemed to last forever.

 

Then on the Monday, when Robert turned up for work, Lawrence wasn’t there.

He spent the morning talking with clients on the phone, scribbling down figures on a notepad in front of him, glancing up at the door each time it opened. On his way back from lunch, he collided with the company assistant director on his way out.

‘I need Lawrence’s signature on something, is he…, when will…?’

‘Just leave it on my desk.’

Next day, he overheard him talking to another member of staff. Lawrence had taken a holiday, a cottage in the South of France with his daughters, yes, a spontaneous decision. He’d stood up and gone to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Holding on to the sink, he looked in the mirror, flexing his jaw.

And for the rest of the week, he’d felt this simmering irritation against everyone and everything, running on pure caffeine in the day time, alcohol at night.

 

Things only got worse. The assistant director took over a client that he’d been working with. It was just as he was on the point of finalizing a profitable deal which would have earned him a good bonus, but not just that. He’d wanted to see Lawrence’s face when he got back.

So, they’d had a fight; Robert white cheeked, teeth barred, sneeringly citing examples of the man’s bad business decisions and general incompetence.

He was given a verbal warning.

He stormed to the bathroom for a second time and sat down in a cubicle, balling his fists in his pockets, fighting the urge to walk out. If he did, he’d lose his job, lose everything. He didn’t know how long he could go on, starting again from zero each time he messed up.

He wondered if there was something physically wrong with him. Maybe he should make an appointment with a doctor.

 

He’d almost called in sick the next day. Almost, but he’d dragged himself in, unshaven, his hair tousled, shirt creased from where he’d slept in his clothes on the sofa after drinking too much. Then, at the office, he had a surprise call. It was their competitors, the one’s who’d won the deal that day after the sauna; wanting to meet him.

‘Let me buy you lunch.’ She said.

‘And why would I wanna have lunch with you?’

‘Come on, Robert - I can call you Robert, can’t I? You know how these things work?’

So, he made an excuse, emergency dental appointment, went home and showered, then turned up appropriately late.

 

She was close on forty, sophisticated looking; the attraction was immediate and mutual. They made small talk over Negroni cocktails, and then negotiated while they lunched. When she came back from the bathroom, he noticed she’d refreshed her lip stick, and unfastened one more button of her blouse.

‘Tell me how much you’re earning, and we’ll add another 20 per cent.’

‘Tempting,’ he laughed. ‘But, I think I owe my company some loyalty.’

It was her turn to laugh.

‘You’re not loyal. You’re just playing hard to get.’

He looked at her red mouth.

‘I’m really not.’

They skipped coffee and she took him home.

They had sex up against the wall in the entrance hallway, the taxi still reversing in the drive, and then she led him upstairs to her double bed. It had been a while. It was a work out, the sweat running from his body, cum spilling from the used condoms onto the bedroom carpet. After, he slept so deeply that, when she woke him to tell him her husband was on his way home, he couldn’t remember where he was, who she was, why he was there.

He went home and slept again. It was the relief.

He spent the evening tidying up his flat, it felt good - getting everything back to normal. He found an old cracked polaroid of his Dad that he’d carried in his wallet before consigning it to a drawer.

He put it on the mantelpiece.

 

When Lawrence came back, Robert stayed seated, phone to his ear, while others rose to greet him, cooing over gifts from France - bottles of Champagne and Bordeaux for the office fridge, - _special occasion only mind_ \- macaroons, and chocolate sausages. Robert’s eyebrows flickered. Lawrence had a deep tan, sunglasses tucked in the pocket of a shiny Lacoste body warmer that he wore over a check shirt. Eventually he disappeared into his room, and Robert got on with his work.

At lunchtime, the office half empty, he appeared with a wholegrain sandwich, gravitated towards him, pulled up a chair next to his desk, and sat down.

‘So, tell me all about it? What have you been up to while I was away? I saw we got the Nottingham contract. Good for you!’

‘That wasn’t me.’

‘I know you did all the groundwork.’ Lawrence took a bite of his sandwich. ‘So, what else?’ For a millisecond he saw Jack in him, maybe it was the check shirt.

‘I had sex with a woman.’

He watched Lawrence’s face, saw his jaw freeze mid mouthful, his eyes flicker. He didn’t know why he’d said it, or why he’d said _with a woman_ \- except he’d wanted to see his reaction.

‘It was a one-off. She was married,’ he added.

‘Well, that’s not very principled, is it? Did you know, before you…, I mean, before?’

‘Course not,’ he lied.

But he could see the doubt on his face as Lawrence walked back to his room, he knew the expression, he used to see it on his Dad’s face.

He picked up the sandwich wrapper that Lawrence had left behind on his desk, and lobbed it in the bin.

 

Hate, pity, anger – (desire) – it turned out he’d got the sequence all wrong, back to front, when you looked at it chronologically. Which Robert could never do. He hated looking back.

Which was why, like Scarlett O’Hara, he looked ahead to tomorrow, and decided the best way to win Lawrence round, was the lure of philanthropy.

 

‘A scholarship to the local agricultural college...’

He’d knocked on Lawrence’s office door and breezed in without waiting for a reply. Lawrence was on the phone. He raised a finger, going back to his call.

‘I do apologize, can I speak to you later?’ He said to whoever was on the line. ‘Someone needs my attention.’

‘You were asking for marketing ideas, remember? So, I thought, you can offer a scholarship to the local agricultural collage.’

He saw Lawrence shift in his leather swivel chair. The phone rang, once, twice. Instead of answering it, Lawrence switched it off.

‘Go on…’

‘I was thinking a youngster, from a farming family, maybe a family thrown on hard times, God knows there’s enough around that have gone bankrupt, been forced to sell up - we can call the papers, get a photographer, it’ll look good in the local community and give you some publicity.’

Lawrence had loved it, of course. As Robert put his hand on the door to leave, he turned back, giddy, a lopsided grin.

‘Err, maybe get a new suit before a photographer comes? One with a more modern cut?’

‘The cheek! There’s nothing wrong with my suits, young man! Get out!’

Robert winked and closed the door behind him.

 

But Lawrence had bought a new suit, a blue one, tailored with a fashionable cut.

‘Comes up to your standards, does it?’

Robert raised a hand, patted it against the jacket fabric at his chest, lingering before he let it fall again.

‘It’ll do.’

It wasn’t just the suit either, Lawrence seemed to have invested in a whole new wardrobe, turning up to the office in chinos or jeans, rugby shirts with the collar turned up under carefully groomed silver hair. And every lunchtime he’d pull up a chair at Robert’s desk, sharing his sandwiches, bringing him gifts of Americanos, regarding him from over the straw as he sucked at a berry fruit cooler.

Robert was invited to give his input in business meetings, the assistant director pointing out the flaws, while Lawrence responded.

‘No, Robert’s right!’

At night he lay in the dark on his back, replaying conversations, reaching down to his erection and stroking a hand up over his entire length.

  

Robert bought some royal blue nylon football shorts and long wool socks which he pulled up just under the knee, folding the top down over a piece of elastic. He wasn’t bothering with shin pads, not for a company five-a-side match, which he hadn’t wanted to be a part of in the first place.

‘It’s not really my thing,’ he’d said to Lawrence, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Come on, Robert! Where’s your team spirit?’

It was a bright Saturday morning on the playing fields. Some of the blokes’ wives, children, girlfriends had turned up to watch. Robert waited on his own.

Then Lawrence was there, making his way down the sidelines, a friendly greeting to left and right, and with him was a woman probably in her late- thirties, a bright almost mischievous expression in large liquid brown eyes, cheeks flushed in the chilly air under meticulously applied make up. She was gorgeous; drop dead gorgeous.

Lawrence stopped when he arrived next to Robert and introduced them.

‘Chrissie, this is Robert. Robert, my daughter - Chrissie.’

She put out her hand.

‘We meet at last! Apparently, you’ve made quite an impression on him! He never stops talking about you! I gather you’re quite the talent!’

‘Well, I’m sorry to shatter your illusions! You’re not going to think that when the match starts.’ He took her hand and laughed.

‘Football not your thing, then?’ She leaned closer, her voice had a note of conspiracy. ’Don’t worry, it’s not mine either. I’m just here to humor Dad.’

‘He can be very persuasive.’

‘He’s like a spoilt child, always insisting he gets his way. You’re obviously too good to him. You should have said no.’

‘Are you two ganging up on me, already? I knew this would be a mistake.’

Then, when Robert bent to pull off the track suit pants he was wearing over his shorts, Lawrence reached out a steadying arm to hold onto.

As a rule, the weekends dragged, but suddenly he was glad to be there.

 

He wasn’t technically good, but he was fast on a sprint. It wasn’t long before the side he was playing for had a three-one goal advantage. Then the other team launched a counter attack, and all at once they were losing.  

There was fierce illegal tackle, a lot of shouting from the sidelines. Robert brought down on a muddy patch of grass. A couple of other players helped him hobble off the field, then Lawrence and Chrissie took over, steering him to the Range Rover parked up in the second row away from the pitch.

He sat sideways on the back seat, grimacing, while Lawrence pulled a first aid kit from the boot.

‘What is it? A pulled muscle? Something worse? Have you broken something?’ Chrissie asked.

Robert winced, pulled up the leg of his nylon shorts to his groin.

‘Shall we try some Deep Heat? Or should we take you to outpatients? Dad? We should take him to the hospital!’

‘No, that’s fine. Deep Heat, is fine.’

She squeezed gel onto her fingers, and started to rub it against his inner thigh. He was so startled he wasn’t sure if he felt any pain anymore, watching her manicured hand.

‘Do you make a habit of feeling up strange bloke’s legs, then?’

‘Only under strict parental supervision.’

Glancing up at Lawrence he saw it, the curl of the lip, the sudden furrowed brow.

‘For God’s sake, Chrissie! Let the boy do it himself!’

He tugged her arm away, his chest rising and falling with agitation. Robert looked sharply at his face. He was jealous, Lawrence was jealous; he was almost sure of it.

‘Chrissie, please go. Take everyone to the pub for the meal. I’ll get Robert sorted and then come and join you.’

‘She’s a mother,’ Lawrence said in explanation when she’d gone.

‘She’s beautiful.’ Robert watched his face spasm. He lowered his voice. ‘And you’re obviously a great Dad. She admires you… like I do.’

Their eyes met.

In the distance, he could hear the cheering from the sidelines as the match reached its climax. In the confines of the car, though, it was quiet. He could hear the rustle of Lawrence’s padded jacket as he moved forwards, leaning in from the open car door.

Lawrence’s eyes flickered to his mouth.

He was going to kiss him. Robert inched his chin forwards, his heart thundering.

They barely touched; just the lightest pressure, a brief chaste meeting of dry lips.

The older man’s fingers brushed against his skin, then drifted downwards against the silk nylon material between his legs. Robert’s cock grew hard under the net lining of his shorts.

They could talk, later. Robert would explain about the one-night stands, Lawrence would listen. But for now, they would shut the car door and he was going to pull down his shorts, lie back butt naked on the leather upholstery, and Lawrence was going to lie, pressed over him. They would fuck.

‘No one can see us here.’

There was a crunch on the gravel surface next to the car, brown suede and leopard skin boots, and the door flung wider open.

‘I think I dropped my phone. The match is over, are you coming?’ Chrissie said.

 

For a long time after, he’d wondered if his mind had played tricks with him, until a lot later, in the Woolpack, with Aaron.

‘I always knew he was gay!’

And Aaron had rolled his eyes.

‘What? Well, I did!’

But he’d more important things to focus on than to go into details by that time. Like being in love, being loved back.

 

 

The Monday after the football match, Lawrence called him into his office.

‘Close the door.’

‘Listen, about what happened at the foo…’

‘I want you to clear your schedule. I’m taking you out for lunch. Not a pub. So, go home, change into something smart.’ Lawrence said.

‘I always wear something smart.  Who else is coming?’

‘No one. Just you, Robert. You and me.’

 

He went home and stood under the shower.

Just before he left, something caught his eye; his father’s picture on the mantelpiece. He took it down and put it back in the drawer where he’d found it.

 

At the restaurant, Robert stood up when Lawrence walked in. Robert had dressed in a dark shirt open at the collar and a maroon suit that he’d bought with his first pay check. Lawrence’s eyes swept up over his body and then their eyes met in a smile. He wasn’t sure, should he shake hands, or… was it too early to kiss, just on the cheek….? Lawrence lifted a hand, squeezed his arm.

‘Sit down, my boy. Take your jacket off and make yourself comfortable. Let’s get some champagne! Because I think you’ve probably guessed why you’re here? Office grapevine?’

Robert wasn’t bothered what others thought about him, said about him, but he’d heard the whispers, and the laughter, about how the boss had the hots for the new boy.

He reached a hand across the table, placed it on Lawrence’s hand. They’d soon stop laughing when they heard it was official.

Lawrence moved his hand away.

‘So! Congratulations. I am looking at the new company assistant director! If you’ll accept the position of course?’

His head spun.

A promotion.

The meal was about Lawrence telling him he had a promotion.

It wasn’t…

What he’d thought…

He couldn’t recognize what he was feeling. He’d never been good at that, anyway. He needed one of those charts, the one’s with facial expressions and brief descriptions, so that he could put words to the chaos. All he knew was that his stomach was turning, and the champagne was burning in his chest, and that pain - the one from before - the arrow, where the gap in the armor had let something through all those months ago - it was back, only deeper, a more mortal wound.

A promotion.

Of course, he’d wanted this, he told himself. This – was -what -he’d – wanted, what he’d been working for. He found his voice.

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Say, thank you, then. You deserve it!’

 

As they were leaving, Robert went to the bathroom while Lawrence paid the bill. He was walking back towards him when he saw the waiter approach.

‘Your boyfriend, he left his jacket.’

‘Boyfriend? I’m not … I have two daughters and a grandson. My wife recently passed away. I’m a man of a certain age! I’m not that kind of man!’

Robert reached forwards and took his jacket from the waiter.

‘Thanks.’ He said it quietly, turned back to Lawrence, a hand on his sleeve.  ‘Come on, let’s go.’

And maybe that was when it started - the hate, pity, anger. Lawrence wasn’t the man he’d thought he was.

 

That afternoon he bought a new car, then drove around the city into the night. He parked up, looking at his phone and scrolled down some numbers, he didn’t want to be alone. He made one of his rare calls to Vic, told her about his promotion, listened as she chirped on, happy for him.

‘When are you coming home, Rob?’

‘One day. Soon,’ he lied.

He scrolled again, there was a one-night-stand he’d hooked up with who’d left his number in his phone. He took a deep breath.

‘Awww, I thought you’d never call!’

It was fast and rough, the lad bit down on his bottom lip until he could taste the sweet metallic tang of blood, _\- no bruises this time_ , - he’d hissed, but he laughed low when the lad shoved him onto the bed and ripped his suit trousers open; at least he could afford another pair now - and maybe soon he’d own one of those watches; Rolex, Cartier…

 

 

The truce was over. They’d been exchanging not so friendly fire all afternoon, sniping away at each other, slowly deconstructing the bridge built by brandy and shared broken hearts.

‘It wasn’t always like this between us, was it, not in the beginning? What happened?’

‘You know full well; you married my daughter.’

‘You were jealous!’

‘Ridiculous!’

‘You were! You managed to convince yourself you hated me, rather than loved me. But you actually kissed me, once, remember?’

‘You’re insane. Get out!’

‘You wanted me, that’s why you promoted me, above all those other candidates who were more qualified than me.’

‘As much as it pains me to say it, you were good at your job.’

‘What I was good at was sucking up to you. I admit it. A bit of flattery, a bit of flirting. I led you on. Let you think there might be something there. You really don’t remember, do you? That day, after the football? You had the hots for me, you were a joke.’

‘I said, get out!’

Lawrence stood up, swaying slightly from the effects of the brandy, and Robert rose to face him, also unsteady on his feet.

‘Make me!’

 

He saw the change of expression on Lawrence’s face, caught his breath.

And Lawrence kissed him.

Their lips met briefly. Robert could feel the thick bristles of Lawrence’s moustache pricking against his upper lip, his softer beard against his chin. He felt his chest rise and fall.

Lawrence pulled back. They looked at each other. Then Lawrence kissed him again, slightly more pressure, slightly longer. When he ended the kiss, Robert chased him with his lips, and their lips met a third time, then a fourth.

He raised a hand and let his rest on the older man’s chest.

‘You remember now?’

‘What?’

‘Kissing me, after the football?’

He opened his mouth against the older man’s once more, and felt the wet heat as Lawrence’s tongue flickered through his lips and stroked against his own. He felt his tongue probing deeper and their jaws moved together, rhythmically, their lips bruising, Lawrence’s moustache chaffed against his top lip. They both stopped, noses still touching, breathing hard.

‘I never kissed you!’

‘Well, not like that.’ Robert agreed.

 

‘Take your clothes off!’ Lawrence said.

 

Lawrence shifted to the sofa and watched while Robert undressed, first taking off his shirt, then his shoes, socks and trousers.

He stood for a moment, glancing at the windows onto the garden and the open door into the hallway and kitchen beyond, then put a hand in the waistband of his boxers, and slipped them off.

Lawrence sucked in air through his lips as Robert’s already erect well-endowed cock rose above his pale stomach, swaying, his dark pink swollen tip glistening.

He ran fingers into his blonde pubic hair, touching his root, and gave himself a quick couple of tugs with his thumb and forefinger, saw Lawrence stroke the front of his own jeans as he looked at him, then beckon him to come closer.

For a while Lawrence let his eyes feast on his body, then he raised his trembling hands, and stroked down from his waist over his hips, moving his hands forwards to his thighs and then upwards over the smooth pale skin.

Robert looked down at Lawrence, still dressed in his jeans and charcoal grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms. He could see the grey hair at his chest where his top buttons were undone, how his throat was flushed, probably from the brandy.

‘You need to undress, too, if we...’ he started. But Lawrence moved a finger to his lips, silencing him. He walked his fingers over the flesh of Robert’s leg to his inner thigh. Robert shuffled them slightly further apart, and waited.

Lawrence touched his balls. As if he’d read his mind all those years ago, he moved his middle finger, down and behind them, finding that special erogenous spot just before his taint, and pressed not so gently, so that Robert had to reach his hands to his shoulders to steady himself, and let out a soft moan.

‘How did you…?’

‘Read about it.’ Lawrence looked up with black eyes, under his eagle brow.

Robert glanced at the copy of Men’s Health with new respect, then was quickly distracted as Lawrence’s fingertips started to roam hungrily, back over his balls and under them, then up to his root, where he massaged slowly, before curling his fingers into a loose fist and stroking them over his entire length.

Robert blew air from his lips, a part of his brain was questioning the right and wrong of heavy petting with the grandfather of his unborn child, but his dick pulsed, especially as Lawrence had touched his thumb against his sensitive swollen tip.

Lawrence wet his lips, pulled his cock head into his mouth. Robert felt his tongue circle over him, caressing his seam, his slit, feeding on the burst of pre-cum that spilled from him as he rolled his hips forwards in gentle thrusts.

Robert looked around him at the Home Farm living room, at the photograph above the fireplace of Chrissie, Rebecca, Lawrence standing between them. He could feel the old man’s moustache scratching over his dick, and looked down again, wanting to pump and go deeper into the hot space of Lawrence’s throat.

But Lawrence moved his mouth back off again.

‘Sit down on me.’

Robert waited a moment, wanting more of his mouth.

‘Just, sit down here, like I asked, will you?’

Robert eased forwards over his knees, straddling him.

 

’I’ve done this with Ronnie. We, err, did quite a lot of things…I need to tell you, that I can’t usually manage penetra… I mean, me and Ronnie, we used hands, mouths, we were building up to … ‘

As he spoke, he was already running his hands over Robert’s shoulders and arms, down over his smooth chest, he found Robert’s nipples and squeezed against them. Robert’s cock pulsed again.

‘Hands, mouths, is fine.’

He looked down.

‘I’m messing up your shirt.’  He reached forwards and unfastened the buttons, revealing his barrel chest, covered with soft grey hair. As he eased the shirt off over his shoulders, he noticed that even though Lawrence had lost form with age, and carried some weight round his waist, his shoulders and arms were still muscular and strong.

He caught the faint scent of sandalwood from the older man’s body.

He moved his hands to the buckle of his trousers, unfastened them, then released the button and the zip, his breath catching in his throat. Age twenty-seven, this was what he would jerk off to. Lawrence was wearing a pair of shiny white Y-fronts. Robert could see the huge bulge under the already damp cotton, he moved his hand to the waistband to lower them down, but Lawrence gripped his wrist.

‘Don’t rush.’

Robert nodded, disappointed. Instead he edged his hips forward. Lawrence pulled Robert’s body forwards against him, clamping an arm around the back of his waist, and then he curled his finger and thumb around his shaft.

‘Careful. I’m close.’ Robert wet his lips, breathing hard.

‘Good. I want to watch you come.’

Lawrence slipped his wet tongue into Robert’s mouth, a simulation of penetration that Robert knew wasn’t going to happen, but that made his cock pulse dangerously in the old man’s hand, releasing more clear liquid that ran down stickily over his fingers.

His hand moved fast and rhythmically. Robert’s breathing became more and more ragged.

He heard Lawrence’s soothing voice, felt the heat from his groin and balls travelling up through his shaft, and his stomach went rigid.

Lawrence stilled his hand, waiting.

Maybe it had just been a long time since he’d had sex. Or maybe he’d been waiting for years for this to happen, or maybe he was startled at how well Lawrence seemed to know what he was doing, and needed to write a thank you letter to Ronnie…, he could hear Lawrence’s voice calling his name gently, caught the anxiety in his tone, realized his heart seemed to have stopped completely, didn’t care.

He looked down at his cock in the older man’s hand, glimpsed his mature man’s cock head, swollen purple,  above the waistband of his underpants.

Then he went over the edge, shouting too loud, in that way of his that made Aaron laugh. Aaron, he mustn’t think about Aaron.

This wasn’t that story.

His heart kicked back into gear until it was thundering now, hurting his rib cage. Lawrence was stroking him through, as his cum sprayed in waves, between them over their stomachs and chests. Lawrence’s other hand was pressed again himself, rubbing. Robert could see creamy white cum escaping his slit, sliding over his purple hood. He heard Lawrence’s deep groan, and shuddered as his orgasm deepened and he continued to spill, coating Lawrence’s fingers until his hips finally stilled.

Lawrence tilted his head questioningly.

‘Alright, my boy?’

‘Obviously, I saved the best White till last!’

 

‘Now come to bed. I want to make you come again.’

 

Robert sat naked on the edge of the bath in Lawrence’s en suite bathroom, pouting. He’d lost his erection, and now he was slowly but surely losing the will to live. He rolled his eyes, only to find himself stared back at by a hostile rubber duck. Rebecca had bought them, and, blaming her ‘baby brain’ when she remembered she already had some, donated them generously to _Grandad_ to get him in the mood for Junior. It was hardly the mood, or the type of rubber he’d had in mind.

They’d come upstairs and sat down on the gold satin cover on the bed, and after snogging to get acclimatized, Lawrence’s mouth had travelled down over his body and was inches from his dick, when they’d been interrupted by voices.

Lydia and Lachlan had come home, and Lachlan was calling for Lawrence at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Ignore them.’ Robert ran the back of a finger down over a mature nipple, searching with his mouth for Lawrence’s.

Lachlan called again.

‘I can’t.’ Lawrence sighed heavily, fastened his jeans and started to pull on his charcoal shirt while Robert watched despondently.

He pointed, stretching his lips sideways over his teeth – ‘There’s err, you know, …on your shirt…’

Lawrence looked down at the telltale stains.

‘Oh! Yours, I think!’

Robert grimaced, but he wasn’t about to apologize for his abundance (at least not this time). He watched as Lawrence hastily shed the shirt, pulled out another one from the fitted wardrobe with mirror doors. _Maybe the bathroom to be safe?_ \- Then he was gone, calling – _Lucky_ -as he descended the stairs, leaving Robert in silence.

He could overhear snippets, Lachlan had passed some test or other – _that’s wonderful news_ – _money? – of course, celebrate…, voices fading._ He was gone ages. He knew they were in the kitchen, otherwise he would leave.

Maybe this was how the story should end, anyway. A fitting end; comic - after all, this had never been a love story, had it?

Maybe it hadn’t even been about hate, pity, anger - desire? He’d just read it all wrong.

The bathroom door opened, Lawrence framed under the halogen light.

‘They’ve gone.’

‘I’ll go then.’

‘Robert?’

‘No, you should be with your family…’

Lawrence caught him by the wrist as he tried to walk past him, steered a hand around his waist, pulling him tight against his clothed body. His hand slid down over Robert’s solid arse cheek, and his bearded mouth slipped to his throat. His voice was thick with lust.

‘I want to be with you!’

Then there were two hands over his arse cheeks, and a finger slipped briefly into his crack, touching so lightly against his rim, Robert wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or not.

‘Let’s go to bed?’

 

Robert lay naked on the gold satin sheets, eyes narrowed, red lips open.

Maybe it was the novelty - Rebecca would have said, but he was bisexual, he could say it now, and wasn’t this what he’d always wanted? In the library, even before they met, he’d had a sense that this was meant to be.

Desire - then anger, then pity and finally, hate. They’d all been desire in the end.

Now Lawrence wanted to explore his whole body, touching him, with his fingertips and his mouth.

At first, Robert had struggled onto his side, not wanting the traffic to be too one way. People might call him self-serving, but he’d be offended if anyone accused him of being selfish in bed.

Robert didn't need a magazine to tell him which parts of a male body were sensitive to stimulation, and so he’d caressed with his hands and fingers and mouth, below Lawrence’s earlobes, down the side of his rib cage, under his arms, over his mature man nipples, taking the nubs between his lips until he felt them grow long and erect in his mouth, and then unfastening his jeans once again, running his fingers under the seam of his underpants to the side of his base, grazing over his pubic hair, wanting to pull his jeans completely off, until Lawrence had stilled his hand.

But then Lawrence had wanted to take over, and had turned him onto his front.

 

‘Remember the sauna, Lawrence?’ he asked, his voice graveled. ’I wanted you then, like this.’

‘Sorry. I thought, but then, the age difference, I wasn’t sure.’

‘I don’t think I could have made it more obvious.’

‘I wasn’t ready, neither were you.’

‘If we’d talked about it.’

‘You know what your problem is, Robert? You talk too much.’

He felt his body move until he was lying over him, pressing him into the bed. Lawrence reached out his hands, holding his arms out by both wrists. The heavy cotton of his jeans chaffed against his arse cheeks as he bumped and ground over him.

He could feel his cock leak against the satin cover, started calculating the laundry bill, no stains guaranteed.

Lawrence slowly backed off.

‘Can you go on your knees?’ He asked.

Robert shuffled, resting forwards on his elbows, rocking his hips back. He heard him groan.

Lawrence ran his fingers down his spine, then stroked his palms over his arse cheeks, kneading the solid flesh, then he maneuvered his thighs even wider apart so that his crack was open, and leaned forwards, caressing his balls and tugging down over his cock hanging between his legs.

Then he raised his thumb and padded over his rim, pressing down gently over the tight muscles, until Robert could feel himself opening up.

After, he felt warm breath, Lawrence’s nose against his lower spine, and the sensation of his wet tongue lapping tentatively up from below his rim, up over his crack. Robert reached for his cock under him and as Lawrence lapped over him he stroked himself.

Lawrence had Vaseline. Robert heard Lawrence open it. He felt the sensation of the cool heavy grease over his hole, then two fingers at once in his hot space, easing in past the tight muscles. Robert moaned and rocked his body, he knew he could come like this.

But Lawrence patted his hips.

‘Can you move to the edge of the bed?’ He asked, ‘And turn over?’

Robert swiveled and Lawrence pulled him until his hips rested over the edge of the bed. He blinked up at him under narrowed eyes, wondering what Lawrence was planning.

Then he pushed down his jeans and Y fronts and pulled out his cock.

Robert moaned at the sight of his mature man’s cock, his swollen hood and heavy thick veined shaft, hanging down in his hand like autumn fruit. He imagined him seeding inside him and bit down hard against his lip.

Lawrence opened a draw, Robert assuming it was for a condom, but instead he picked up a three pack of beaded cock rings and pulled one out.

‘I ordered them on line, but Ronnie had gone before they arrived in the post, I, err, tried one alone. It’s supposed to help, so we can see, if you want…’

‘If you want, there’s no pressure.’ Robert answered. ‘Whatever feels good.’

‘This feels good so far.’ Lawrence answered.

He slipped the ring on, and Robert watched it grow tighter around his base as his massive cock grew darker and heavier. He looked at his purple head, and wet his lips.

Lawrence touched his tip against Robert’s body, then lowered it, caressing it downwards along his crack a few times, before nudging forwards against his rim. Then with a forceful thrust, he was moving inside.

It was so long since he’d had sex, he knew he was tight. Since the break-up, sometimes he would fuck himself with a couple of fingers in the shower, or lying sideways on the bed, reaching behind him.  

As Lawrence waited, just his hood inside Robert’s entrance, Robert whimpered at the stretch. Then Lawrence made teasing mini thrusts, while Robert’s muscles clenched around him. Finally, he moved in deeper.

Robert raised his arms above his head, his fingers flexing against his palms, his neck thrown back as his body was rocked by each thrust inside him. At first, Lawrence’s movements were rhythmic and slow. Robert turned sideways to look in the mirror, biting his lip as he saw the older man’s long dark cock moving in and out of his body.

Lawrence rocked and rotated his hips, adjusting the angle, but keeping the slow rhythm going, watching Robert’s reaction. Robert could feel the beaded ring, teasing against his entrance. He stretched his long legs and raised them, wrapping them around Lawrence’s waist, pulling him closer.  

Then Lawrence picked up the pace, getting faster, until he was pounding into Robert, each hard, fast thrust stroking against the sweet nerves inside him, dragging louder and louder moans from his throat, as sweat ran down their bodies.

Robert lifted his arms from behind his head, clutching at Lawrence’s wrist where he was holding his hips with one hand, moving the other to his cock. Lawrence slowed and then thrust forward deeper than ever once, twice, sending Robert over the edge. He could feel the muscles in his arse squeezing over Lawrence’s cock as he started to come, releasing stripes of creamy cum over his stomach. Lawrence, watching him, pulsed inside him and started to seed, until he pulled out, still coming, and spilled hot cum over Robert’s balls and base and stomach.

Lawrence collapsed forwards over him, and Robert rolled him onto his side and looked at his face, for just one moment panicking, that maybe it had been too much for his heart, imagining the trouble he would get into. Then Lawrence grinned.

‘Fuck! Robert!’

And Robert started to laugh.

‘Fuck!’

 

 

When he woke, he was lying on his side, Lawrence behind him, his arm resting loosely over his hip.

He could tell Lawrence was already awake from the sound of his breathing.

‘You don’t have any regrets?’ He asked.

‘No, no, not at all.’ Robert patted against the pillow, leaning his cheek against his elbow. ‘You?’

‘I didn’t make you sore?’

‘A bit, but, in a good way.’ Robert chuckled softly. His voice was thick with sleep, and Lawrence, lying behind him, couldn’t see his face.

 

‘I fell in love with you from the first time I saw you, my dear, I loved you ever since.’

‘Err, if your trying to get into my pants, you already did?’

‘No, I mean it.’

‘It doesn’t matter, anyway. I mean if we had got together back then, I wouldn’t have met Aaron.’

‘The love of your life.’

‘Yes, yes, he is. Like Ronnie is to you, eh?’

 

‘So, let’s make a pact. What happened today, stays between us?’

‘Absolutely.’


End file.
